


It Starts with a Bloody Lip

by Lucifer_Milton



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Almost Choking, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Gloves, M/M, Ren's unstable lightsaber, Riot Control Baton, Sparring, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hand-to-hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifer_Milton/pseuds/Lucifer_Milton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In physical combat Ren had seemed human; small and insignificant. Not unlike every other being in the universe. But with Ren settling into a fluid rhythm, wielding his cross guard saber with the unnatural dexterity his powers afforded, Hux could see why so many feared him.</p><p>Here was the monster the whispered tales spoke of; a faceless being, capable of striking down any who stood in its way without a shred of remorse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts with a Bloody Lip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tarkinducken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarkinducken/gifts).



> Kylux February Fic Exchange 2016, fic for Tarkinducken. [Illustration drawn by me]
> 
> Prompt: Hux doesn't think very highly of hand-to-hand combat as a concept. Kylo disagrees, daring him to use a riot control baton to spar with him.

_Thump. Rattle. Thump, thump. Rattle._

The punching bag sways with each punch and kick, his breath coming out in sharp exhales as he goes through the motions with long ingrained ease. His fists ache and the bones in his shins throb, but he ignores it. The dull pain is something he’s gotten used to. Even welcomes it on days like this when his frustrations boil over and can’t be kept in check with his usual rituals.

Which, honestly, isn’t so much rituals as it is imbibing a few glasses of wine or throwing himself into his work, focusing on his datapad until the words blur together and he no longer has the brain capacity to think, let alone dwell on the day's events.

Sweat trickles down his forehead, the heat blooming from his shoulders and up his neck. His shirt sticks to the damp skin of his back as he throws another quick and efficient series of jabs.

Hand-to-hand combat is something he’s never really had an interest in. Hux despises it, has since his academy days. Something about it is just a touch too barbaric for him, but it's a requirement of all officers, even ones as high up as him; to include physical and combat training in their timetables whenever possible. And even though he’s proficient with blasters and sniper rifles, he’s more than aware that close quarter combat is always a risk on the battlefield.

It makes sense, really, and it’s one of the reasons Hux still includes private visits to the officers training room when he has the time.

Of course, he’d be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he was doing it to prove himself; that he could easily meet the same standard of performance that The First Order demanded of its troops.

_If not exceed, that is._

Hux did tend to have a personal goal in life to excel at everything he set his mind to, never one to settle with mediocrity. Particularly if it was something that would be included on his service record.

If there was one thing Hux would not allow, it would be complacency. He would not be seen like some of the other generals he has made acquaintance with in the past. Prime example being General Ruon, who had a tendency to throw lavish dinner parties among his officers, gorging himself on wine and delicacies instead of meeting the physical requirements that the Order expected of them.

The man was quickly rivaling the girth of a bantha at this point and Hux wasn’t sure how the General still retained his station, being as obese as he was. Especially given the quarterly command inspections that Hux met with exemplary marks each and every time. By now the fat bastard should’ve been relieved of his station.

 _If I was in command, he never would have made it as long as he has._ Hux thought, the edge of his lip twitching with barely repressed irritation.

He jabs again at the bag, exhaling through his nose at the way the impact shutters up his arm.

They were supposed to set an _example_ for their troops. Lounging around feeding off of success not only looked bad on Ruon, but on the Order as well, and having such a stain marring the Order’s pristine image had never sat well with Hux.

In fact, it makes him livid just thinking about it, jaw clenching as he throws a left-- _thump--_ and then a right _\--thump._

There were ways to remove an unwanted commanding officer, and he knew it would be up to him to rectify this overlooked slight. If he was going to rise to the pinnacle of the command structure and crown himself emperor of the galaxy, then men like Ruon would have to be dealt with and swept neatly under the rug. With his connections and his pull, it’d be simple to do; he has, after all, done it before.

Hux hadn’t rose through the ranks by playing _nice_.

_Thump, thump. Rattle._

Now, if only he could do that with _Kylo Ren_.

Another jab, another sweep of his leg and he lets himself relax, letting his heartbeat thrum in his ears as his arms fall to his sides. The brush of his ginger hair against his forehead makes him huff into the silence of the empty training room, reaching his hand up to try and sweep it back into its original form. The strands of hair rebel against him and drape back across his brow. Hux closes his eyes against the way it tickles his sweat slicked skin.

He’s almost thankful, in that moment, that no one is around to see him so disheveled.

“You won’t learn much from a bag that doesn’t punch back.”

Hux’s entire body goes rigid, completely taken off guard. He should've known better than to disregard his surroundings, especially where Ren was concerned. His head snaps around, expression torn somewhere between ‘ _how the kriff_ ’ and ‘ _get the hell out_ ’ as he takes in the looming figure by the wall. _How in the hell had Ren gotten in?_

“I have the same security clearance as you do, General.” Kylo states, as if Hux wasn’t fully aware of that.

He _is_ fully aware, thank you. Hux was, after all, the one who gave him those codes.

There’s a touch of amusement in the rough mechanical tone, as if laughing at his internal comment, that makes Hux inwardly bristle. “Stay out of my head, Ren.” He hisses, not in the mood to deal with the black clad maelstrom of adolescent rage; he doesn't want to deal with Ren most days, or any day, for that matter, but today is _not a good day_ and dealing with Ren’s petty hysterics is the last thing he needs.

Hux silently curses Snoke for stationing the emotional catastrophe-waiting-to-happen on the _Finalizer._

_Why here? Why couldn’t it have been the Rectifier, or the Enforcer?_

Hux shoots the man a displeased look. “And as I recall you were denied entry into the training rooms until you desist indulging those  _tantrums_ of yours.” He glances over at the deep scoring marks on the durasteel wall behind the masked man, not in the least bit subtle about it.

Not only had Ren left his own brand of graffiti, he had also demolished the entire collection of top of the line combat training droids they had. They were now just a pile of scrap, pieces of metal and circuitry with scored edges. Sliced apart by a mad man waving around a magic sword.

To say Hux had been furious was an understatement.

The droids alone were equivalent to almost an entire year's worth of Kylo Ren's insatiable need to slice apart consoles and interrogation rooms. Hux almost wishes Ren had just stuck to the consoles.  _Almost_.

“You interrupted my meditation.”

One of Hux's eyebrows quirks upwards at the blunt admission. “The last I checked you were clear across the ship, Ren. How could I have possibly interrupted you?” Hux asks, an eyebrow lifting with disbelief. It wasn't as if he had comm-ed the idiot by accident.

Kylo lowers his arms. “Your thoughts.” He lifts a hand and motions to his masked head. “I can hear you clear across the ship, General. Like a sharp knife, stabbing into my head.” His tone was annoyed, frustrated.

So it was the mind reading thing, then. The Knight had mentioned it before, that Hux’s internal thought process could be extremely loud. Unusually so. It isn’t something Hux can really help. He makes it a point to never yell or scream, to take out his frustrations where someone can verbally hear them. The General lives in his own head, compartmentalizing everything, internalizing the anger and hate that blooms within him when something goes wrong or a subordinate does something extraordinarily stupid. (Which, to be fair, is a sight better than Ren’s way of dealing with failure. No one would find him in a room howling and slashing at a computer like a prepubescent teen.) It was simply how he had learned to handle things at a young age and what he was used to.

Always composed, a well put together image that could inspire respect in the men and women under his command; to know when to speak and when not to, when to approach and stay away. A delicate line between indifference and sympathetic. His father's words echo in his mind as a reminder:  _Never put yourself at the mercy of others. Place yourself above them, but not so far apart that they view you as impersonal. There is a steady balance, one you must strive for. Master that, and all those who stand before you will bow without question, willing to pledge their loyalty._

It had never been a problem until Ren had come aboard.

“So block it out. You've done it before, just do it again.” Hux couldn't just turn off his brain, no matter how much Ren may want him to. “Now if you don't mind, I'm rather done with your incessant whining today.” It was a dismissal, one he is sure the masked demon won’t head. There’s a rumbling sound of annoyance coming from the other side of the room, but he’s not about to continue indulging Ren with his frivolous grumbling.

_Thump, thump, rattle._

Behind him he hears a hiss, the mechanical sound of a catch being released. It echoes through the otherwise silent room, louder than it should. Hux has only ever heard that noise one other time, and it had been on his way out of the holoprojection chamber shortly after concluding a report to Snoke.

Ren had been quiet, stood at his side. Whether he had been listening or not, Hux hadn’t known, but he quickly and efficiently briefed the Supreme Leader on his progress and had turned on his heel and left when dismissed.

It had been only a glance over his shoulder at the door that he heard the hiss of a catch released, witnessed the helmet being lifted off, but he hadn’t stayed to look. Hux had barely glimpsed the barest of what looked like black hair before the doors had hissed closed behind him, cutting off his spying.

That in itself had been a shock at the time. Hair? Like a normal human being? It nearly shattered the illusion Hux had built in his head of what Ren most likely looked like under that mask of his.

Without a doubt some hideous creature, or a human that had been twisted so much the features were mutilated beyond repair, needing to hide its grotesque face behind a featureless mask.

_Something like Snoke, perhaps._

Why else would the mask be needed? Surely it had _some_ purpose. Perhaps Ren was still horribly disfigured underneath it, even if he seemed to have a perfectly normal looking head of hair. Yes, that had to be it.

He hadn’t thought about it since then.

To hear it now, though, made Hux breathe out an exhale of something between surprise and trepidation. A part of him wants to turn around and look, to know once and for all what resides under that godawful mask of his, but another part of him is oddly hesitant. He’s not sure why, doesn’t even think he wants to know the reasoning behind it.

Still, his pale blue gaze lingers on the black leather punching bag, not giving into the temptation to turn around. Not yet.

“Do you usually train with the droids?”

It’s a testament to just how knocked off kilter Hux is by the others voice, deep and smooth and no longer filtered through that horrible vocoder built into his mask, that he answers without an ounce of bite. “Typically yes, unless Captain Phasma is free, then I usually spar with her.”

Captain Phasma was currently on Deck 3, patrolling the corridors. He hadn’t bothered to comm her, having memorized her schedule long ago.

Hux finally gives in, angling his body to where he can see out of the corner of his eye. But all he sees is the back of him, the coarse cloth of his robes and the thick, wavy black hair he’d seen before. It is longer than he’d thought it to be. _Against regulation_ , his mind provides automatically.

It isn’t until Ren begins to lift his cowl over his head does Hux realize he’s set his mask to the side on a bench. “What’re you doing?” He’s never seen Ren without his mask, let alone disrobing. It’s rather alarming.

“You need a sparring partner.”

That jerks Hux out of his quiet stupor, an incredulous scoff passing his lips. “You can’t be serious.”

Ren may look big, but Hux highly doubts the man has ever bothered learning the art of hand-to-hand save for the occasional sloppily thrown punch. More reminiscent of bar brawling than anything. He’s too reliant on that flashy magic sword of his.

Still, if Ren insists, then Hux is willing to oblige. Especially if it means he’ll get a chance to punch Ren in the face.

The opportunity makes him far happier than it should.

He’ll admit, he’s had passing thoughts of having a holoprojector made of Ren’s mask to install on one of the combat training droids. It would’ve made his time in the training room infinitely more amusing for him, but he’d ultimately dismissed the idea. There was no need to lower himself to Ren’s childish standards.

But, if every now and again he still pictured it, well, it wasn’t like anyone could read his thoughts. Save Ren, of course, but it didn’t particularly bother him if the Knight knew.

A sound of amusement comes from the back turned towards him.

 _Well if he didn’t know already, he knows now._ Hux thinks with a sigh, cursing Ren quietly in his mind to once more _stay out of his head_.

“It’s more that I never realized just how obsessed you are with me.”

Hux doesn’t get a chance to remark, to refute the statement, because that’s when Ren finally turns around.

Kylo Ren is nothing like what Hux had expected.

The man _⎯_ _⎯_ no, _boy⎯⎯_ because Ren is without a doubt younger than him, perhaps not by much but enough, is not hideous, not disfigured and certainly not a creature of any sort. No, he’s a perfectly normal looking human.

Hux can’t help taking in the features, somehow morbidly curious despite his hatred for the man as he studies him: the cut of his cheek bones, the long slope of his jaw and chin, the plushness of lips and the heavy brows over brown eyes speckled with hints of gold, a furious fire swirling deep within them. There’s a constellation of dark spots across his cheeks, his forehead, chin and the bridge of his nose.

It all comes together into a picture that Hux never would have imagined in a million years.

Ren is _pretty_ , in an unusual way. And definitely not intimidating in the least.

“You should know better than to underestimate me, General.”

Hux laughs, unable to help himself, because now it makes perfect sense. The temper tantrums, the snark; Ren really _was_ nothing but a child. How could he ever take him seriously, knowing now what he looked like under that mask?

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to take it easy on you.” Hux mocks, realizing suddenly that all of this has distracted him from the hell that has been his day. If he’s a little thankful, he doesn’t let it show as he raises his fists, angling his body and placing his feet in a loose stance. “Wouldn’t want you to run off to your quarters, crying, now would we?”

It’s the first time he’s ever seen an expression on the Knight’s face. For some reason it makes Hux shiver in delight, being able to physically see the effect he has on him: the way those lips twist upward in a snarl, brown eyes darkening with rage, the pinch of his brows.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, then, to see Ren without his mask more often. Particularly if he was this emotive.

“ _I am not a child_.”

Hux smirks slowly, eyeing him as the Knight steps closer and settles into his own stance. “We’ll see about that, shall we?”

It’s quiet after that, Hux smirking and Kylo glaring, sizing each other up subtly until one of them finally makes a move.

Hux easily dodges when a sharp and swift fist comes out of nowhere. Before he knows it he’s on the defensive, his own instincts kicking in as he blocks attacks left and right. The Knight is like a powerhouse with the way he throws his punches. Hux can tell, simply in the way Ren clenches his jaw, the way he turns his entire body into a throw as Hux sidesteps another aimed at his head. If it had connected, Hux’s certain he would’ve been knocked over. Perhaps even had his jaw broken.

It’s not a comforting thought.

Ren is right, he’d underestimated him, because even with his brash and recklessness, his stance is familiar, his posture relaxed despite the tensed throws. He has had training, though he’s not nearly as experienced as Phasma.

Phasma would never allow herself to lose control and leave openings. Not like Ren.

Hux sees it, considers it and then takes it with a quick jab of his fist. Because despite his lean figure, he is not without strength of his own. Where Ren is brute force, Hux is fast and agile, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

His fist connects hard with Ren’s side, knocking the breath out of him with the surprising amount of power behind it.

It seems to enrage Ren even more, recovering swiftly and renewing his attack.

Hux takes a few unexpected hits to the shoulder, his chest, but it’s nothing he can’t handle as he takes his time, dodging and landing hits when Ren leaves himself wide open.

_Be patient. Wait it out._

Ren would tire soon enough, lost in the rage that has consumed him. If it hadn’t been for that, Hux thinks Ren might have actually stood a chance, even been a decent sparring partner. But his emotions leave him messy and uncoordinated, despite the evidence that he is capable of more than this wild flailing.

As it is, it only takes another ten minutes of bobbing and weaving before Ren begins to slow, beads of sweat sliding down the side of his face with exertion, face flushed pink as he pants with ragged breaths.

It’s then that Hux pounces, fists flying unnaturally fast, hitting Ren in his weakest spots with a nearly clinical efficiency. He knows where it hurts the most, where to hit to leave someone winded, leaving them incapable of gaining the upper hand.

Ren manages to get one last punch in, busting open Hux’s lip before Hux knocks him flat.

The sight of Supreme Leader Snoke’s pet lying on the ground at his feet, bloodied and bruised, is far more rewarding than he’d ever thought possible. The satisfaction he feels is nearly overwhelming, ignoring the sting on his lip as Hux swipes the back of his hand across them to wipe away the warm trickle of blood.

“And here everyone thought you to be invincible. My, what would they think if they could see you now.” He can’t help it, he knows he shouldn’t, knows how volatile Ren can be when he’s angered beyond measure, but he needs this; needs to rub it in because this is likely the only time he will ever be able to. “If only you had your sword with you, maybe then you might’ve beaten me.”

Kylo snarls from the ground, pushing himself up slowly. “If I had my lightsaber, you wouldn’t last a second. There is no ‘maybe’ about it, _Hux_. It is a fact.”

The way he says his name is meant to be insulting, but Hux simply quirks an eyebrow in response, not in the least bit bothered. “You realize I know how to wield a riot baton, yes?”

That seems to cleave through the Knight’s rage, tempering it as a spark of what looks like curiosity blooms behind his eyes. Had he not known?

Hux, despite his disgust with the entire hand-to-hand training, had made sure to include close quarter weapons. Especially when Ren had come aboard a year ago. One look at that sword of his and he had put in an order for a set of Z6 riot control batons. It had been an excessive use of credits, but he wasn’t running the risk of encountering other similar lightsaber wielders.

Only Hux knows that real reason for the initial procurement of them had been to combat Ren if he ever went mad or turned against them. After all, Hux was a man who prepared in advance for _any_ and _every_ possible outcome.

“Show me.”

_What?_

“Show. Me.”

Hux stares, momentarily thrown. Somehow he isn’t surprised that Ren wants to test him. Of course he does. He’s been beaten and he wants to regain his dignity, even if that means resorting to the weapon he’s most familiar with as a crutch.

Hux hesitates, ponders it for a moment, because he can already feel the aches starting to form along his upper back, his thighs. Ren fights far differently than Phasma and he’s had to put his muscles to use in a way they’re not accustomed to. Pushing himself any further will likely leave him sore for a week, if not more.

“Don’t worry, General.” Comes a soft, low voice, mocking him like Hux had done previously. “I’ll go easy on you.”

That is what makes Hux bristle, his entire posture straightening, fists curling at his sides. His pale eyes flash with a seething anger at the implications behind Ren’s words.

“You will _not_.” Hux says, a slight growl to his words. “If anyone should be coddled here, it should be _you_.”

It doesn't have the effect he wants. If anything, quite the opposite as Kylo’s head tilts, an edge of a smirk tugging up the corner of his full lips; the rage is long gone, replaced by a slow burning amusement.

 _Fine._ If he wanted to see his proficiency with the riot baton, then Hux would show him. He steps away and strides to the far wall with even, measured steps, taking the baton down from where it’s kept on a shelf, encased, a glove kept with it.  
  
The handle itself is magnetized, snapping into the palm of the plastoid glove that Hux slips on, wrapping his fingers around the handle. He takes a step back and turns, eyes narrowing into a steady glare as he resettles the riot baton in his grip, letting it hang at his side.

In front of him Kylo Ren widens his stance, standing tall again. At his side he reaches for the hilt of the lightsaber clipped to his belt. It settles into his grip with familiar ease, black gloved hand curling around it.

Hux watches with a small spark of fear that he firmly shoves away as he watches Ren’s thumb press, the humming red plasma blade extending with a flash. Hux lets out a slow exhale as he lets the baton extend with a metallic click, the conductors buzzing to life with a clashing burst of energy. White surges of power dance around the head of it in violent arcs.

The weight is familiar, the feel of it, and he takes a moment to glance down at it, the way his armored fingers wrap around the handle, holding it aloft so the tip is only mere inches from the floor. It’s longer then he remembers, but he’s fairly certain he can compensate. Hux is, after all, tall enough for it not to be an issue.

In that moment of distraction he hears a whirring thrum in his ears, the sound of plasma in motion and he barely reacts in time enough to swing the baton up to block the saber slashing down at him.

The red glow flickers, reflects in the pale of his eyes, wide against the rise of unbidden fear threatening to choke him. His arm is straining to hold the baton aloft and similarly keep the saber at bay as it rests mere inches from his face. He can feel the heat of it, far too close for comfort.

Hux realizes with dawning horror that he will not win this. His arm aches, shaking uncontrollably as he puts all of his weight into pushing Ren back, teeth clenched and bared in a snarl. He barely manages it and the relief only lasts a second before Ren is advancing again, the scarlet glow painting the side of his features, for the first time making Ren look truly like the warrior he is.

In physical combat Ren had seemed human; small and insignificant, like every other being in the universe.

With Ren settling into a fluid rhythm, wielding his cross guard saber with his unnatural dexterity, Hux could see why so many feared him.

Here was the monster the whispered tales spoke of; a faceless being, capable of striking down any who stood in its way without a shred of remorse.

Hux barely counters attack after attack, swinging wildly, unable to gain the upperhand even as he wraps both hands around the handle like a sword, ears filled with the sharp, clashing of virulent pulsing energy.

Ren is a flurry of movement, nearly a blur of black and red, graceful and fluid where before he had been a wall of blunt strength. Hux, against all odds, manages to keep up, but it’s a close thing. There are moments where he truly believes the saber will cut right through the baton and sink into the meat of his shoulder, cleave through his neck, but it never does. It shakes him more than he’d admit and it’s in a moment of doubt that he drops his guard.

In a flash Kylo slashes his saber upwards, cutting the baton in half at the handle. Hux can feel the heat of the blade through the glove, doesn’t even notice that the lightsaber has actually melted through the outer pieces of plastoid as he recoils backwards. He barely recovers in time, only to be knocked on his back by a punch that makes his teeth clatter.

Hux lands hard on the ground, his back rebelling against him as an unbidden grunt bursts from his lips. Suddenly there’s a heavy form pressing in close, black clad knees settling over his arms to pin him down as the weight sits on his chest. Ren’s knees are pointed through his pants, digging into the meat of his arms and making his bones grind unpleasantly. He doesn’t get a chance to react, the loud, crackling hum of Kylo’s blade closes in, making his ears throb like they’re about to burst with how deafening it is.

He refuses to cower, despite the swell of panic that threatens to overtake him; even as the scorching blade nears his face, hissing and sputtering with how unstable it is. Hux feels like his entire cheek is ready to melt off but he swallows, clenches his jaw and breathes as evenly as he can, despite being winded.

Above him, dark brown meets that of pale blue, staring unflinchingly at each other, waiting for one or the other to move. The crimson flicker of the blade reflected between them, shattering across their irises, tinting them a dangerous red.

A thought comes unbidden to him, then, as he stares up at Ren.

Kylo Ren looks menacing like this, mussed and bathed in the color of blood, a bruise forming on the side of his jaw where Hux’s fist had connected earlier.

It’s _⎯_ _⎯captivating._

Hux curses himself for the unwanted comment his mind has dredged up from nowhere, because the last thing he wants is to feel the stirrings of possible interest towards the man currently pinning him down.

Whether or not Ren senses his thoughts, Hux doesn’t know, but the Knight is suddenly leaning closer, his free hand finding its way around Hux’s throat. The glide of the leather against his neck makes Hux swallow again, knowing that Ren can feel the way his throat bobs under his palm. Hux's expression turns haughty as he tilts his head back, peering up at Ren.

Kylo studies him intently, his darkened eyes searching across his face as if looking for something, his gloved fingers digging into the sides of his neck with clear intent before he relaxes and pulls away.

It leaves Hux momentarily confused as Ren stands, hovering above him, the lightsabers blade disappearing with a warbling hiss.

“You need practice.” Is all the Knight says before turning and stepping away.

Hux lets out a shaky breath, steeling himself before he pull himself up into sitting. It’s only then that he notices the melted remnants of the glove still encasing his hand. The outer layer of plastoid on the fingers is melted and black, any closer and the blade would’ve seared straight through his fingers.

He wonders if it was intentional, or if Kylo had missed. Both options leave him shakened, slipping the glove off and flexing his uninjured, unscorched hand. His fingers are pale against the black of his shorts, the barest dusting of freckles trailing from the back of his hand, disappearing down the length of his arm. He lets the glove fall to the floor, next to the ruined remnants of the riot baton as he stands up, dusting off his shirt and shorts.

They’re even now, each having defeated the other, leaving them with a respect for bother their victory and their defeat.

Even so, Hux feels a need spring into life inside him, a burn to prove himself, as always, superior over the other. It’s something he knows is mirrored in the other with the way Kylo’s gaze lingers on him, a challenge lighting his eyes.

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Hux admits, begrudgingly. “I’ll insist on a rematch, you realize.”

It’s the first time he hears Kylo laugh, a low, rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest. It makes Hux shudder, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Kylo smirks, his cowl already resting back upon his shoulders and his helmet in his hands. “I’d expect nothing less of you, General.”

Right, Ren was an irritating nuisance, _a pain in his kriffing side._ A snarky little child that couldn’t keep his temper in check. Remember that, Hux. _Remember that._

He doesn’t get the last word in, and that pisses him off more than it should when Ren walks out, helmet back in place.

It’s in the leftover quiet that the aches and pain begins to set in, the adrenaline wearing off. Hux makes it out of the training room and to his quarters without collapsing, but it’s a near thing. In fact, as soon as he strides in he heads straight for the bedroom and collapses face first into the charcoal colored sheets, too exhausted to remove his clothes.

He’ll regret it in the morning, when his bed will smell of sweat and blood, but he can’t bring himself to care as he drifts into sleep, thoughts lingering on the surprising exhilaration he’d felt sparring with Ren.

  
*     *     *

The next evening, as he’s setting up to start his new training routine, Ren strides in with heavy steps, announcing his presence this time.

Hux isn't surprised at all as a smirk pulls at his lips, readying himself for another round despite the bone deep ache in his body.  
  
Who knows, maybe with a better outlet for Ren's rage, there'd be less equipment losses. And if it just happened to help Hux by distracting him from the overwhelming stress of running the _Finalizer_ and having his father breathing down his neck _⎯⎯_ Well, he'd just consider it a win _-_ win all around.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me over at my [tumblr](http://evilspacetrash.tumblr.com/).


End file.
